Walk through Hell with a smile
by aintnodoubtaboutit
Summary: Alternate season 9. What if Dean didn't go to that hospital? If there wasn't an angel possesing Sam and Dean would have to take on Sam's health himself. What if Crowley was a little more human after all? What if everything would have been different, taking on Heaven's deal in their own way: The Winchester way. Crappy summary, I know.
1. Don't stop believin'

**I do not own Supernatural. There will be typos since I don't have a beta, English is not my mother language and I have a broken wrist wich makes it hard to type. Anyway, enjoy this one guys.  
**

**With love, Kim.**

**WARNINGS: graphic violence, strong language, gore. A lot of gore. **

**It's set in an alternate season 9.**

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_9x01: Don't stop believin'._

Dean took Sam's huge, limp body in his arms and manouvred him into the backseat of the Impala. No way in fucking hell he was going to drive to the nearest hospital. There would be way to many questions and they'd probably end up in jail. No, Dean would nurse Sam back to health himself. He started the roaring motor of the Impala, heard a moan from the backseat and pushed himself to drive to Kansas as fast as humanly possible. The bunker was only three hours away. Dean promised himself a whole liqour store if he made it in two. And he did.

"C'm on Sammy.. Stay with me a little longer." Dean said when he heard something alive on the backseat. He parked the car, got out and almost ran to the other side to get his little brother out. "Sam, can you walk? Or at least with my help?" Dean asked when he opened the door and swung Sam's legs out of the car. Sam nodded weakly and tried his best to keep his eyes open. They were large, red and had deep dark circles beneath them. Dean worried even more now that he saw Sammy in the light of the streetlight opposite of the bunker. Dean hoisted up Sam, took his limp right arm and swung it over his own strong shoulders. Dean placed his free hand around Sam's wrist to support him a bit more. "Okay now Sammy, easy and step by step. It ain't long." Sam trusted Dean blindly right now. Step by step, they came closer to the bunker and Dean had actual hope that they would make it.

This all made Dean go back down memorylane. He had done this countless times from the first time that Sam had come on a hunt and got hurt when he was 6, and now, the 30-year-old Moose who had been talked out by his brother on closing the Gates of Hell and killing himself in the proces. Dean was afraid Sammy might still die from what the trials did to him, but he'd find a way. Damn sure he would find a way.

When they finally were inside the bunker, Dean had noticed that Sam couldn't walk one step more. So he did what Sam had done with him countless times as well. When Dean had been serverly injured on a hunt and he couldn't walk anymore, Sam would scoop him in his arms and carry him all the way to the Impala. None of the brothers would ever mention it again. And so now it was Dean's turn to carry his brother to his bed.. Which was further down than Deans.. "Yeah you're sleeping in my bed kid.." Dean said when he looked at the Moose he was about to carry down a fleet of stairs. Praying to whatever that he was strong enough, he picked up Sam and set his feet on the first step. "Damn Sammy, how much weight did you lose man?!" Dean asked. Sam felt as light as when he was 16. "Not that much." Sam murmerd. Dean took mental notes to check absolutely everything checkable when Sam was safe in bed.

Not too long after, Dean settled Sam in his bed and started to undress him. The boots and socks were the easy part. When Dean started to peel of the shirts, he saw Sam in pure pain. Every muscle tensend in Sam's body. He was sweating, glowing with heat and looking downright scary. "I know, I look like shit." Sam whispered. "Shit doesn't even begin to touch it bro." Dean said firmly. "First I'm gonna stitch up that cut in your hand, then I'll check the rest. Try to stay awake, please." Dean waved through Sam's hair before leaving. Sam closed his eyes, and had already almost passed out when Dean returned not two minutes later.

Dean had taken everything he could find and had thrown it into his duffel bag. The bag hung heavily on his shoulder when he ran into his room. "Sam! Wake up, Sammy.. Gotta clean the wounds and stuff." Sam opened his eyes and searched for his brother. Dean sat down next to Sam on his bed and took Sam's injured hand in his own and wrapped off the bandana that had been a makeshift bandage. Dean's eyes widened at the sight that revealed itself. "Damn it Sam, how deep did you cut it?!" Sam didn't reply. The cut was very deep and red around the edges. A small river of blood dripped down and it all looked really irritated. Dean took a clean washcloth soaked in rubbing alcohol. He started rinsing out the wound, making sure he was as gentle as he could.

This also sent him back in time. Stitching his baby brother up, taking care of him. "You ok?" Sam nodded. Dean took the needle and thread in his free hand and started to pierce it through Sam's skin. Dean was glad that because Sam was in so much pain already, he didn't really feel the stitches. Sam was numbed by pain. His tense muscles eased with every passing breath. He was on his way to the beautifull world that was called painless sleep. Dean finished up stitching and shifted on the bed. He took the thermometer he had purchased after Sam started getting sick due to the trials. Dean had did the drill almost every night since he found Sam's bloody napkin in the trash.

Dean turned the already overused thermometer and slipped it into Sam's mouth. Ten seconds passed, twenty, thirty... A minute later the stupid thing still hadn't shown Sam's temperature. "You got to be kidding me." Dean sighed and took out the thermometer. "If you feel this in any way possible, and tell anybody about it, you're a dead man, Winchester." Dean said seriously while bending over Sam's head. It looked peaceful and fast asleep, so Dean didn't waste precious seconds of sleep and pressed his full pink lips to Sam's hot and sweaty forehead. He closed his eyes and counted to five. He knew it didn't need more than five seconds, but he didn't let go.

Dean did not know why, but he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He sat back up and took in the look of his brother. His baby-little-huge-moose-brother. Damn, he looked bad. He looked small and fragile. And Dean actually felt like he messed up. He really messed up. He couldn't protect Sam. Now saw was burning up with a fever, his insides were damaged and he looked like actual Hell. Dean was already mentally locating the nearest crossroad.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Sam was still asleep after 48 hours, and only left him alone for 6 hours to take care of something. Dean had picked up Crowley from the church and tied him in the bunker's hidden dungeon. On his way back, he had stopped by a liqourstore and bought it almost empty. He was going to need the damn stuff.

Dean had re-taken his seat on the edge of the bed and swiped away the sweat from Sam's forehead with a damp washcloth. Dean took the bottle of Jack he had sitting on the nightstand and took a large gulp. Suddenly he felt movement beneath the washcloth. Sam's head turned to face Dean, eyes blinking and searching for the green eyes belonging to his older brother. "Sammy! Hey.. Hey how are you doing?" Dean said, smiling. Sam tried to say something but his throat was way to sore to produce words. "Oh.. Want me to get you some ice? I'll get you some ice." Dean sat before padding Sam's shoulder and running of to the kitchen. He returned to a wider awake Sam which did Dean good. Dean slipped some ice chips into Sam's mouth. He was really grateful for that, because damn his throat stung like a bitch. Once the swelling had settled down a little he tried again. "I feel like crap." Sam's word were almost whispers, but Dean almost jumped from happiness. Sam was alive and talking, hells yeah.

Sam tried to sit up, but Dean stopped him. "No way, little bro. Stay down just a little longer. You just woke up from the mother of naps." "How long was I out then?" Sam asked confused. "Almost two-and-half days. I've been gone for about six hours to get Crowley and locked him into the dungeon. Kevin's also fine, although he really isn't keen on the idea the king of Hell is in the bunker." Sam's eyes opened even wider. "Dude, so long? And you just let me sleep?" His voice contained a soft touch of anger, but he also knew that Dean would never leave him alone is there was another way. And Kevin was here, so if something had happened he wasn't really alone. "I've tried to wake you, but you just didn't." Dean motioned his head towards Sam's left arm. "It's not like I let you die anytime soon." There was a needle in Sam's arm, attached to an IV bag filled with a transparent liquid. "You smartass." Sam whispered in awe.

"How's your hand?" Dean took the nicely wrapped hand in his own and started to take off the bandages. The wound looked actually quite clean and the stiches weren't irritating. "Fine, I guess. Stings a little." Sam said while looking down at his hand. "I had to re-do your stitches only hours after I stitched it up first. Everything was red and irritating.. Somehow I was glad you were out, you slept through the worst." Dean looked Sam right in the eyes. Sam felt a unconfortable by that. Then he started to take in his surroundings. This wasn't his bed, it was Dean's. He saw a picture of him, Dean and both his parents sitting on the nightstand, right next to the almost empty bottle of booze. That sure wasn't Dean's first and only. "Why am I in your room, Dean?" "Well, passed out before we got down the stairs, and I wasn't going to carry you all the way down to your room. So I put you here." Dean smiled. "You carried me? You? I'm a head taller than you!" Sam couldn't believe what he just heard. "Well, you also weigh just about as much as when you were 16 dude.."

They heard a knock on the door, and Kevin appeared in Dean's room. "Sam, you're awake! Thank God!" Kevin almost yelled. It hurt Sam's head. "Keep it down a notch, will ya?" Dean hissed as he wrapped the bandage around Sam's hand. Kevin looked down for a moment. "But, ehm, Dean.. Crowley won't shut up. I can hear him in the library.." Dean rolled his eyes. "I'll go and take a look. You sleep some more, Sammy." Dean sqeeuze Sam's shoulder and even smiled a little. Sam nodded and smiled back. "Wake me for dinner." Dean laughed. "No way." And with that, Dean and Kevin left the room to give Sam his deserved rest.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Behind two huge cabinets in the archivesroom, Crowley was whining about absolutely every simple little thing. He was in demonic handcuffs, there was a Devil's trap made out of concrete and steel, the whole place was warded against any supernatural being and it was packed with torture supplies. Dean sometimes dared to come close enough to hit him square in the face, but he couldn't bring it to himself to start torturing again. Not with Kevin around and Sam in the condition he was in now.

"Can't you shut the fuck up for just one little hour?" Dean said while he brushed through the hidden door in the cabinets. Kevin wasn't allowed back there, so it was just Dean and Crowley. "Really, Squirrel, can't you be nice for once. You're just downright rude to me." Crowley said in his typical accent. "Nah, I've got enough on my mind. Being nice to a fucking demon isn't on my list." Dean came a little closer, the Colt hidden in his waistband. "Now, Dean, don't go down that road. I've done a lot for you and the Moose. I gave you the Colt to kill Lucifer, what didn't work ofcourse, but what the hell. I've given you Dick on a Stick by donating my blood. Well, that got you into Purgatory.. Anyway, I was about to give my life for the entire human race and even that didn't work out for you. Man, man, Dean. You really suck at everything, don't you." Crowley smiled while metally torturing Dean. It was that what made Dean human. His guilt. He felt guilty for absolutely everything, and right now, his baby brother was fighting for his life. Also Dean's fault. "It's always your fault. _You_ started the Apocalyps by breaking the first seal in Hell. _You _broke after 30 years in the pit and started torturing souls. _You _are too weak to ever be a good hunter again. Not like before Hell. Before your daddy sold his soul for you and died."

Sickening. That was the sound that came from the dungeon. Sickening. Dean had picked up a blade and started cutting into Crowley. He strung him up six ways from sunday and took Ruby's knife out of his waistband. "Too bad I can't kill you yet. You may be useful, you fucking son of a bitch." Another hit in the face, another stab in Crowley's side. Dean had flashbacks: Hell, Alastair, Lucifer.. Dean decided it was enough after a full hour of beating, stabbing and swearing and took out a bullet from the Colt. With a knife, he carved a Devil's trap in it and put it back into the Colt's magazin. "You gonna shoot me, Dean? It's not much use you know.." Crowley spat out some blood. Dean pulled the trigger and hit Crowley in his shoulder. "Well now there is just no possible way for you to get out of here ever again. And that was kinda the point." Dean said with a smile that would scare the living shit out of normal people. It didn't scare Crowley, not as far Dean could see. "Just keep hanging in there, Crowley." Dean left without another word, and closed the door through the cabinets.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

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**Hey guys ! Hope you liked this one. Part 2 is coming up very soon, I promise !**

**xxx **


	2. Don't stop believin' pt 2

**I do not own Supernatural. There will be typos since I don't have a beta and English is not my mother language.  
**

**With love, Kim.**

**WARNINGS: graphic violence, strong language, gore. A lot of gore. **

**It's set in an alternate season 9.**

**Also I want to dedicate this story to a friend of mine; Emy. 3**

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_9x01: Don't stop believin'. [part 2]  
_

"D-dean?" Kevin said shaking. He heard everything. The screams, the swearing, the gunshot. "Did you kill Crowley?" Dean turned around. "No... I'm going to check on Sam now." Dean looked distant. He was crying, even though he didn't want to show it. He felt like a monster again, a sick, torturing monster who didn't deserve to live. "You would want to put another shirt on, and clean your face. There's blood everywhere Dean." Kevin said carefully. Dean looked down on his clothes. "Well, too bad. If Sam's awake, he wants to know what happened the past hour." And Dean left.

He walked into his bedroom. "Sam, I'm sorry.." Dean looked up, and to his surprise, Sam wasn't there. _Maybe he went out for a leak?_ Dean thought to himself, so he looked into the bathroom bordering his bedroom. No Sammy to be seen. "Sam?" Dean yelled. No answer. "Sammy!" Dean let out a little louder, but still no sign of a living Sam. Dean ran back up to the library, taking Kevin bij the shoulders. "Where's Sam? Have you seen him up here when I was gone?" Dean rattled out. Kevin's eyes were wide with surprise. "Sam hasn't been up here. Why?" "HE'S GONE, THAT'S WHY." Dean grabbed his beloved gun from the table and went to search the house. First he checked his own room again, went down one more fleet of stairs until he was standing in Sam's room. No Sammy there either. "Goddamn it Sam! Where are you?" Dean ran back upstairs and into the kitchen.

He found Sam passed out in front of the sink, a broken glass by his side. "Oh god, Sammy!" Dean fell to his knees next to Sam, the broken glass pierced trough Dean's knees and legs. He hissed once but focused on getting Sam back to consciousness. Softly slapping his face didn't work, shaking shoulders neither. "Come on Sammy! Don't you die on me!" Dean took Sam by the shoulders and placed his back against his own chest to make Sam sit up a little. The movements made Sam groan, and that gave Dean some hope. "KEVIN, GET YOUR ASS IN HERE AND FIX A CUP OF WATER!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs. Sam acknowledged it and tried to open his eyes. The lights were way to bright for him, and he shut them again. "It's okay, Sammy. It's going to be fine. I've got you." Dean whispered, sighing in relief. Sam coughed as Dean took the cup of water Kevin brought him. "You gotta keep believin' right?" Kevin said while handing the cup to Dean. Kevin looked like a wreck, it was the first time that day that Dean took an actual good look at the young Asain kid. Kevin had become a Winchester the way everybody became a Winchester: With blood, sweat, tears, alcohol and death. He had aged an aweful lot the last couple of months. He was anxious, felt nowhere safe but the bunker with Sam and Dean in it and started drinking. The kid wasn't even allowed to drink yet.

"Sammy, you with me?" Dean asked, and Sam nodded. Dean felt the movements against his chest and was grateful. He held out the cup in front of Sam. "Here, drink something." Sam's hand was shaking, but he took the cup and brought it up to his mouth. The cup was empty whitin seconds. "Please.." Sam managed to get out as a demand for more water. Kevin reacted quicker than Dean and refilled the cup. Sam already looked a bit better when he downed the second cup.

"Can you stand?" Dean asked. "Yeah." And Sam accepted his brother's strong, helping hands. Once he stood, he towered both Dean and Kevin, but looked smaller than both of them combined. Sam looked like the 10-year-old that got hurt on his first hunt. He looked like when he was 13 and got pneumonia, and that time when he was 15 and got his appendix out. "We'll get you back to bed okay?" Sam nodded in agreement and walked with Dean's strong arms around his waist. Sam slung one arm over Dean's shoulders and it didn't take too long to get bak to Dean's room that way. Dean layed down his little brother while Kevin came in with some tylenol and another cup of water.

"Why are you coverd in blood?" Sam asked confused. Dean looked down. "It's not mine, it's Crowley's. He wouldn't shut up.. So I made him. He won't go anywhere anytime soon." Dean said with a weak smile. Sam opened his mouth to argue, but he was too tired. "What about the blood on your legs? That's newer." Damn, Dean hadn't thought about that, there was even some glass still stuck in his legs and knees. "You dropped a glass when you passed out, I got down in it. It's really nothing." Dean reassured Sam and Dean came a little closer to the bed.

"Are you nauseous, Sam?" Dean touched Sam's forehead with his hand. "No, but not hungry either." Sam answered. Dean got worried, Sam's temperature was only getting higher. "Hey Kevin, could you get some towels, a washcloth and a bowl with cold water?" Dean asked without taking his eyes off Sam. "Yeah, sure. I'll be right back." Kevin almost ran into the bathroom. "Sammy, you take this and then I'll try to get your temperature down, okay?" "Yeah, sure." Sam breathed a little heavier but he took the tylenol and water without any problems. Kevin returned with his list of objects and placed them on the nightstand. Dean sat down nect to Sam on his bed and took one of the towels in his hands. Sam closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep. Dean started to clean the sweat from Sam's head and neck, down to his arms. "Damn Sammy, your shirt is totally soaked." Dean murmerd under his breath. "Hmm?" Sam tried to ask. "Get up, big boy. We have to get you into some new clothes." Dean held out his hand and Sam tried to sit up.

It took them almost half an hour to get Sam undressed, into the shower, out of the shower, dry, clothed and back in bed again. It had drained Sam completely and he was asleep before Dean could even put him down. Dean took the washcloth and soaked it in the cold water. He placed it on Sam's forhead, who smiled weakly in his sleep as he felt the cold on his skin. Yes, he was completely out of engery, but he looked better after he took the shower. There was some more color on his cheeks and his hair wasn't so messy anymore.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dean stayed with Sam this time. Sam had been asleep for the past day and Dean had to re-inject the IV needle to keep him hydrathed. Dean hadn't slept. He couldn't afford it to dooze off, maybe Sam needed him and he couldn't be asleep then. Dean had passed the time by pulling out glass from his legs and knees, and stitching up the large gashes.

"Dean.. please go to sleep. I'll stay here and get you when Sam's awake." Kevin said while coming into the room, but he found Dean already asleep. Dean sat with his back against side of the bed, head tilted down and mouth hanging open a little. You could hear him breathing steady, and you could see a washcloth and his gun sitting in his lap. Kevin chuckled, he had never seen both Winchesters down at the same time. It wasn't really the right time to chuckle, but he couldn't help it. Suddenly, he felt a very cold breeze in the room. "Hello boys."

Crowley stood in the room, hand in his pockets as usual, but blood all over his face and suit. "DEAN!" Kevin yelled, and Dean woke with a start. He stood before his legs could catch up and held on to the bed for dear life. When he finally stood, he beat himself metally for falling asleep on Sam. "How, for the love of everything, did you get out of that dungeon? Devil's traps, warded against anyting supernatural and don't forget that bullet in your shoulder." Dean was really, _really _surprised to see Crowley. "You boys keep forgetting that I'm the king of Hell. And thanks to that trial, I'm also partly human. It comes with perks, Squirrel."Dean pointed his gun at Crowley. He couldn't smoke out, and he couldn't dissapear within the bunker, so he was still trapped. "What are you doing here?" "Like I said, partly human. I've come to save Sam." Crowley smiled big, but Dean didn't buy it.

"I see you don't believe me, Squirrel. Fine." Crowley waved with his hand to the right, and that was were Dean ended up not two seconds later, his head smashed into the corner of his desk. Some things were knocked off, like the frame with the picture of their family. Kevin just stood there, silent and almost pissing his pants from fright. "D-dean?" Sam woke from the loud noises disturbing the peace. His eyes fell on the unconscious Dean, then on Crowley who now stood on the other side of him. "Crowley?" Sam was really confused to see Crowley. Dean had told him that Crowley wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and now he stood next to Sam. If he was honest, Sam was actually scared. That feeling intensified when Crowley brought his hand to Sam's chest. "This will hurt, Moose." And a beam of light escaped Crowley's hand. Dean awoke, petting the place on his head where he had hit the desk. There was blood streaming out of the cut above his left eyebrow. "Get away from Sammy, you sonovabitch!" Dean slurred. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled. When he looked up, Dean saw life coming back to Sam. He had color on his cheeks, didn't look so pale and he wasn't sweating anymore. Dean's face spoke bookparts. "What the hell?!" He tried to stand again, with the help of Kevin, and sat down on the bed next to Sam. "You're welcome, I'll be back in the dungeon if you need me. Don't stop believin' boys." And Crowley walked away, just like that.

"Sam?! Sammy, how are you? You okay?" Dean soon got his attention back on his little brother. Sam cracked his eyes open, and Dean could _see _that Sam felt better. "Dean! What just happened? How, when, what?!" Sam rambled on and on and on. "Easy now, bro. Easy. I was out for most of the happening. You tell me!" Dean said, feeling his temple again. Still blood. "He just came in, I woke up to a lot of noise and suddenly his hand is on me and I'm fine. Like, really fine." I haven't felt like this since I killed that hellhound." Sam said with a huge smile. "I don't know what he did, but he told me he was human or something." Dean said. "Yeah, well, I feel like sending him a thank you card and some flowers. Well, after I took a look at that wound above your eyebrow. It's huge." Sam said while sitting up. Dean tried to help him up carefully, but there was no need. Sam really felt okay.

Sam took the washcloth and soaked it in the water again. He started to clean the wound above Dean's eye. "Well, I can stitch it up, but'll only leave a bigger scar that way. You have a sharp desk, Dean." Dean chuckled. "I really don't need any _more_ stitches. Look at my legs." Dean pulled up both the legs of his jeans. Sam's eyes grew bigger. "Is that from the glass I dropped?" Dean nodded. "It doesn't hurt, only stings a little." Sam believed Dean, he had been through worse.

"Wanna come and see what Crowley's deal was?" Dean asked, and Sam nodded. They both stood, knees twisting and still a little in shock, but they stood. It was harder for Dean than he thought, the stitches pulled his skin together, and it hurt more than a little stinging. Sam wrapped his arm around his older brother's waist, just like he had done the day before.

They arrived at the dungeon a little later than planned, but they were there and they were whole. Both standing and breathing. Kevin on the other hand was calming himself down in the library, not begin able to take in what just happened the last couple of days. "What the hell was that Crowley? Just healing people from the good of your undead heart?" Crowley was sitting in the only chair with a book he nicked from the library. "Yes, boys. Not so fast today are you, Squirrel?" Dean felt bullied every time Crowley called him something that wasn't his name. "So you_ are_ partly human?" Sam asked. "That's why we couldn't keep you in the Devil's trap. It doesn't work anymore." Sam walked towards Crowley with a gun. Dean took the clue and grabbed some handcuffs. "Boys.." Crowley felt cornered. Sam pointed his gun at Crowley while Dean cuffed his hands behind the chair. "I just saved the Moose's life, I can reverse it as well!" Crowley warned. "Yeah, well, you need your hands for that, and you don't have them right now. And the longer you're here, the more demonjuice you loose." Dean said while chaining Crowley's chair to the table. Dean really hoped it would hold long enough. "You'll be human in a couple of days, then we'll kill you and there is nothing you can do about it." Sam said.

Dean nudged Sam's shoulder, deciding to leave the bastard alone. Sam helped Dean to walk out of the dungeon, closed the archive doors and sighed in relief. "I need a drink." They both said at the same time.

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**Author's note: **

**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FOLLOWING, FAVOURITING (is that a word?), REVIEWING AND READING! I LOVE YOU GUYS.**


	3. The Demon barber on Fleet Street

**THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS, FOLLOWS AND STUFF!**

**I do not own Supernatural. There will be typos since I don't have a beta and English is not my mother language**

**WARNINGS: graphic violence, strong language, gore. A lot of gore. **

**It's set in an alternate season 9.**

**This story is dedicated to Emy!  
**

* * *

_9x02: The Demon barber on Fleet Street.  
_

Two weeks. It had been two weeks after Crowley healed Sam. And Sam was really better. He was smiling again, drinking for fun, and he and Dean had actual conversation. They started to be brothers again, and Dean loved it. Their days were simple: They all got up the morning, had breakfast, went to check on Crowley, went to check on Kevin, have lunch, check on Crowley again, back to Kevin and time for dinner. Nights were mostly pokernights or movienights and Sam and Dean enjoyed every moment of it.

Crowley was almost human after those two weeks. He hadn't said anything rude, called everybody by their first names and Dean even trusted him enough to unchain him from his chair. Ofcourse the boys expected Crowley to flee, but he didn't. He stayed right were he was. "I need to earn your trust before I can go and run off. I need you boys to know that I'm terribly sorry about everything I've ever done to you guys!" Crowley even cried sometimes. That made Sam, Dean and Kevin very, _very _unconfortable and conversations with Crowley always ended awkward. "We may have failed to close the gates of Hell, but we sure got Crowley in our pockets. The guy's crying for fuck's sake." Dean was just confused.

Sam had been searching around on the internet a bit and found it was time for a new job. And this one, was going to be a good one. "You're gonna like this one, Dean. It's probably a spirit gone vengeful but it's just.. Perfect. It's an urban legend, something we used to hunt when we were still on that 'road trip'" Sam said. Dean's face enlightened. "Where are we going? I've already packed my duffel!" Dean proudly presented his heavily filled duffelbag. Sam laughed. "Rockville, Maryland." Dean was already at the door to the garage, not caring about the fact that it was a fucking 17 hour drive, even with Dean behind the wheel.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dean woke up in an empty Impala. The windows were all frozen and it was very, v_ery _cold in the car. Dean rolled his eyes, turned on the engine and heat, searching for some warmth. He looked over to the backseat. No Sammy, that was weird. Dean frowned and opened the door. He met a very cold wind that froze his face off. He put on his jacket and zipped it up to his chin. The jacket covered his only not-bloodstained shirt left. Damn, they needed to get the laundry done soon. Period. Dean looked out front. He had parked the Impala on the outskirts of Indianapolis as a pitstop to spend the night and the city looked still asleep in the calm morning light. _Damn, Sammy. The wind's fucking freezing my head off. _"Sam? Ya here?" Dean yelled. "Coming in a minute, Dean." Sam appeared to be coming out of some bushes. "Had to take a leak, you ready?" Sam said without further explanation and got into the passenger seat of the car, waiting for Dean to get in too. The older Winchester did, started the roaring motor and not fifteen minutes later they were on a highway.

"So, this job you found, you really didn't tell me mucht about it. I was just way too excited to get out of the bunker and actually hunt again." Dean said while his bad morning mood cleared away. He turned down the volume of the radio. There weren't any good songs on anyway. "Yeah, it's weird. Weird enough for us, at least. Five grown man have been killed in the past two weeks. They all had, erm, facial hair.." Sam said while looking at the photos. One of the men had a beard so big that both Gandalf and Dumbledore would've been jealous of. "Their throat's were sliced with a knife thin enough to be an old razorblade." Dean looked thoughtful. "You're not telling me.." Sam just nodded. "This _is_ our kind of weird." Dean said.

Dean parked the Impala in front of Rockville's policestation 7 hours later. The boys both suited up, now looking like professional FBI agents, only looking way too damaged to be _just _FBI. They entered the policestation, falling into each other's steps. It was natural for them. They fell into step, Dean always slightly in front of Sam. The falling-into-step-thing had been crammed in their system by John. It was natural behaviour for soldiers, and Sam and Dean were raised as soldiers.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Can I help you?" The cop at the front desk was a small, strawberryblonde woman with eyes that matched Sam's. Dean felt his heartbeat raise a notch. "Yeah, Special Agent DeYoung and this is my partner Special Agent Shaw." Sam said while both the brothers showed their fake IDs. "We're here for the," Sam lowered his voice a little. "Creepy murders." The cop looked at Sam with a weird smile. "Happened to be in the neighbourhood, and it's kind of our division." Dean added. The cop eased a little. "Follow me. The morgue is down the stairs, if you want to take a look at the bodies?" She asked in her nice voice. Sam and Dean nodded, and followed her downstairs. The morgue was brightly lit and there was this really weird smell that matched every other morgue in America.

"Here they are." The female cop said while motioning to five examination tables next to each other. There was a stiff human body on every table, private parts coverd with a white cloth. "Thanks. Mind if we have a minute alone here?" Sam asked. The woman looked a little suspicious, but nodded and left. Dean approached the first body, looking directly at the guys neck. "This is some fine work, dude. What was it the cops said again? Old razorblade?" Dean started to poke in the flesh a little. "Yeah." Sam walked over to the last table, smirking as he saw the guy. "This must be Gandalf." Dean looked over and couldn't help but laugh as well. "Let's just ask the police reports and get going. The stink is actually killing me." Sam called over to Dean, who mouthed a thank you into the sky, like he had been praying to whoever was up there Sam would want to leave quick.

The boys entered their motelroom, ties hanging loose around their necks, and completely worn out from the drive and trip to the morgue. They had to wait almost an hour before the sheriff had the damn reports ready. The boys were cold, tired, not used to actually hunt anymore and hungry as fuck. Dean's legs still stung a little and Sam had to take out the stitches in the next 12 hours. He decided that it was better if he did it now, so Dean could take a shower afterwards and help Sam with the stitches in his hand.

"Dean. Come over here, I'll take the stitches out." Sam said, voice filled with sympathy. He _knew_ that stitches were a nasty son of a bitch, but it had to be done. And better to do it fast. "Dean." Sam called once again. Dean let out a moan but before he could complain, Sam pushed him towards the bed in the far corner. Dean sighed, but sat down, swung his legs on the bed and let his back rest agains the headboard. He pulled up the legs of his jeans, doing it carefully, and exposed the healing skin. Sam got out he medkit and fixed up his tools. "Try not to move, Dean." Sam said and he started to take out Dean's stitches. Dean winced and moaned a little, but he got through and it didn't take that long to finish it. "Now go and take a shower, than you can do my hand." Sam padded his left knee. "Thanks, Sammy." Sam smiled and watched how Dean locked himself in the bathroom.

Thankfully, the boys were all washed up and stitch-free in no time. They sat down on the couch, bottles of beer resting in their laps with police reports and cheeseburgers. Dean wasn't halfway through his report when Sam startled out a "What the fuck?!" "What? Whatcha find?" Dean asked, leaning over to Sam a little. He took a gulp of his beer and placed the empty bottle on the table in front of him. "The murders were all committed at the exact same place. An old abandoned barbershop on.. No. This is impossible." Sam's voice went really low. "What? Sammy c'mon! I wanna know!" Dean almost bounced up and down the couch. "On abandoned barbershop on Fleet Street." Dean eyes grew big, both of excitement and fear.

"Old razorblade, sliced throats, fucking Fleet Street. We're dealing with Sweeney Todd." Sam was just as surprised as Dean was. "Or a copy cat, Sweeney Todd lived in London." Sam interrupted Dean's fantasies. "No, Sammy, listen to this: the Demon Barber who used a trap door and trick chair to slaughter his clients was the stuff of urban legend. After all, the events connected with his story are almost unbelievable. His exploits prey upon very common human fears: being attacked while vulnerable, and being served up as food or unknowingly consuming someone else. Who hasn't sat in the chair and felt a shiver as the barber or hair dresser takes out that straight razor, sharpens it on the strop and then applies it to the back of the neck? Or taken a bite of a meal and wondered just what the origin of the hair in the hamburger was? So it was for years, as the legend of Sweeney Todd was passed on from generation to generation, people wrote off the story as pure fiction. But most myths and legends have a basis somewhere in truth, and Sweeney Todd is no different. There really was a mad barber, he really did use a trapdoor and straight razor to rob and kill customers, and most did end up as filling for meat pies. There was never any proof he was only listed to London." Dean told Sam.

"Maybe one of his razors is here? Maybe his spirit is attached to it?" Sam suggested. Dean made a that's-a-very-good-deduction-sherlock-face. "Well, I'm not finishing that hamburger, and no pies for until this hunt is over." Dean added to his look. Sam agreed with him on that, he wasn't in the mood to become a cannibal. Dean took their dinner and tossed it in the trash. "More beer?" He said as he pulled open the door of the fridge. "Yeah." Sam yelled. Dean came back with to beers, unscrewing the cap of his own bottle and handing the other one to his brother. "So, what's the plan? Find the razor and melt the sucker?" Sam asked Dean. Even after all these years, and after everything they'd been through, Sam still saw Dean as a higher power. "Great plan. Were do we find the thing?" But before Sam could answer his brother, his cellphone rang. "NO I WANT TO GO TO BED DAMNIT." Sam screamed through the room. Dean chuckled, and Sam gave him a dirty look.

"Special Agent DeYoung." Sam listened to the voice on the other side of the line. "We'll be there in a minute. Okay, bye." Sam hung up and let out a very loud moan. "There's another one." Dean closed his eyes and rubbed them with his hand. "Must be Thursday."

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**Author's note: **

**This one sucks, I know. I have been drained of my imagination. It's short, it's crappy, I just don't know how to build up to it okay? reviews are very much appreciated!  
**


	4. The Demon barber on Fleet Street pt 2

**THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS, FOLLOWS AND STUFF!**

**I do not own Supernatural. There will be typos since I don't have a beta and English is not my mother language**

**WARNINGS: graphic violence, strong language, gore. A lot of gore. **

**It's set in an alternate season 9.**

**This story is dedicated to Emy!**

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_9x02: The Demon barber on Fleet Street. [part 2.]  
_

"This one wasn't just sliced. It was butchered, man." Sam said to Dean when they caught up with each other next to the Impala. Dean had been speaking to witnesses and Sam had checked out the body. "Well, one of the witnesses gave me something nice. She said she het gotten it from a dumpstore, just two days ago." Dean pulled a bright silver, old razor blade out of the pocket of his jacket. It was half wrapped in a handkerchief so that Dean's skin wouldn't touch the damned thing. Sam's eyes grew big. "Wanna bet some real money the previous owners were the Duville's, the Buckley's and the three other families that were victimized by Sweeney Todd." Dean said with a grin on his face. Sam chuckled. "Yeah, guess you're right. So let's melt the sucker." Sam said.

"It's too easy. It is waaaaaaaay to easy." Sam said when he and Dean were on the road, looking for a safe place to melt the razor down. "Dean, she just _ga__ve _it to you?" Dean nodded. "I asked about the usual. Sudden drops in temperature, weird noises in the house, anything like that. She said that she had indeed encountered said cold spots and al lot of stuff was just knocked over, without explaination whatsoever. She said it had started since she bought the razor for her husband." Dean said while turning left into a little lane that led to the forrest. "But Dean... Never, not even once in our lifes, a hunt has been this easy. It can't be right." Sam sounded worried as they parked the car between the bushes. Both the boys got out and took everything they possibly needed from the trunk. Sam carried the duffle, Dean the razor.

Both armed with their guns loaded with rocksalt, they found a little spot save spot about a mile from the car. There were a lot of trees and bushes to hide their practises. Dean started to make a fire as Sam stood watch. "Well, here goes nothing." Dean said as he threw the razor into the fire. It would take almost all night to melt the sucker down, but it would be worth it. Dean knocked on some wood before saying: "Maybe, just maybe, the odds are in our favor this time." Sam laughed. The odds were never in their favor. Look at the countless times they had died, and especially Dean. Visions, Hell, Mystery Spot, that one time they got shot by other hunters. Sam had a few encouters with Death in the past himself.

"SAMMY DUCK!" Dean yelled at Sam when he saw a spirit flying towards his little brother. Dean could only make out a black shadow, but he was very sure that it was the spirit of Sweeney Todd. Sam ducked and reached for the rifle. Dean held his own and shot right at the angry spirt. It only dissapeared for a couple of seconds before it flung Dean over to a headstone. He was knocked out almost immediatley. Sam spun around, almost losing the balance to his feet, and shot a few more rocksalt bullets at the thing. This time it stayed gone, at least for now. Sam ran over to Dean and shook his shoulders carefully.

"Dean? Hey, Dean? You in there?" Sam said softly. The headwound Crowley had given Dean had been torn and looked like one big red slice in the oldest hunter's head. Sam took off his jacket and shirt and folded the shirt into a makeshift bandage. Dean slowly regained consiousness. He already felt like he had a killer headache.

"S'mmy?" Dean slurred. Sam smiled, but he was worried at the same time. Dean never slurred when he hit his head.. "Hey big macho, thanks for the warning. Next time be ready yourself." Dean looked irritated. "Get me up, so we can get to our motel. That stupid razor thingy can burn in its own peace." Dean still slurred a little. Sam wrapped one strong arm around his brother's shoulders and hoisted them up. Dean wanted to walk himself, but Sam didn't let him. Not when he had a possible concussion.

"I can walk myself, Sam.

"No, you can't. Now shut up and get into the car." Sam sat his brother down in the passenger seat and got behind the wheel. He drove off as fast as the law allowed.

"Hey, hey, hey! Keep your eyes open. No sleeping yet. And keep that shirt against that wound." Sam ordered Dean. He knew that in this state, Dean would only listen to a firm commanding voice, just like dad's used to be. Dean obeyed and put pressure on the headwound. It hurt him, and he had the feeling his head would explode any time soon, but the didn't show it to Sam. Sam had his own worries, and Dean could easialy take care of himself.

It took forever to get to the motel. Well, it did for Dean. He was ready to pass out right now but he couldn't. Sam had ordered him not to, so he didn't.

"Allright, Dean. Let's get you inside and stiched up. Then you can go to sleep." Sam said with the same firm voice. Dean nodded, which hurt him, and got onto his motelbed with all of Sam's help. Dean was exhausted and just wanted to sleep for five days. Sam helped Dean take off his boots and socks, and then his plaid shirt.

"It's gonna hurt, Dean." Sam said when he sat down on the bed next to Dean with the fist aid kit and a bottle of cheap whiskey. Dean nodded and clenched his Jaw. He held on to the wood on the side of the bed. "First gonna clean it, if you need to throw up or something, say so. Please." Sam said as he soaked a washcloth in the whiskey. "Yeah, sure thing, S'mmy." Dean closed his eyes and waited for the worse to come.

Sam's gentle hands started to clean the wound. Once or twice he was interupted by Dean's hissing, but Dean kept telling Sam to continue. When he was done cleaning, he handed Dean the bottle of Whiskey. Dean took a couple of mouthfuls. The whiskey was soothing the pain away, but it also made his eyelids heavier and heavier.

"I'm gonna stitch it up now, it'll need at least ten stitches.. I'm sorry." Sam said, sympathy cracking his voice. Dean already felt like crap, was ready to pass out and now Sam would come and bother him with at least ten stitches. Needles piercing through skin never felt nice.

"Dean.. I'm done now. You can sleep. Do you need anything more?" Sam asked after about fifteen minutes. Dean was pale and his forehead was coverd in sweat. He shook his head. "Just sleep." Dean's voice was deeper than usual. He knew Sam was going to wake him up every two hours or so to check if he had a concussion, so Dean took advantage of the heavy eyelids and fell asleep before even knowing it. Sam took a seat on his own bed, a book sitting in his lap, and waiting for the first two hours to pass.

The two hours had passed very slowly. Sam got up from his bed and beamed over to Dean's. He shook his brother lightly. Dean woke up. His ees weren't as green as they should be and there were some dark circles around them. "What's your name?" Sam asked. Dean swallowed before answering: "Dean Winchester." "Age?" Sam continued. "Just turned 35." Dean crooked. "Who's the president?" Sam heard Dean moan. "Last question, I swear. Then you can go back to sleep..." Sam's voice trailed off when he saw Dean's pillow. There was blood on it, and it wasn't from his head.

"Dean.. You're bleeding.." Sam started to examine every inch of Dean's head. "Neck.." Dean slurred before losing his battle with consiousness. Sam looked over to the right side of Dean's neck. Right under his ear, there was a little cut, about an inch long. "What the..?" Sam frowned and looked at the cut a little better. It was perfectly straight and super thin. "For fuck's sake, Dean you touched the razor didn't you?" Dean didn't answer. Sam had just read about another Sweeney Todd legend. It wasn't Todd who haunted Fleet Street, it was just the razor. It was a cursed object, causing people who touch it to die. All victims had died real slow, because the cut appears real slow. And apperently, Dean's skin had touched the razor.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn. Goddamnit. What am I going to do now? Okay, Winchester, breathe. The razor is melted by now, so that's not an option. Sweeney Todd's gone also.. But Dean's still dying." Sam kept saying to himself. He wrote a letter telling Dean where he was and took the carkeys from the table. He wasn't comfortable with leaving Dean behind but there was nothing he could do. He had to find the person calling the shots. Maybe it was witchcraft, maybe it was hoodoo.

Sam drove off to Fleet Street. It didn't take long to find the abandoned barbershop. Sam looked around a little. His eyes grew big when he saw the building next to the barbershop. In beautiful gold, there was written: "Mrs. Lovett's." Sam was getting done with this shit. He went inside the pieshop, armed with a double barrel loaded with rocksalt in hand and his usual gun in his waistband.

And there she was. A young, fine looking woman. Long brown hair, all tied together in one big braid. She was crying, holding herself and rocking back and forth. Sam dared to step a little closer. "Hey, miss.. What's going on?" Sam asked really carefully.

"I didn't want to do it. I'm so sorry!" The girl muttered. Sam got to his knees and saw a lot of blood coming from both the girl's wrists. He quickly ripped his shirt in two and put pressure on both the wounds. "What do you mean, why're you doing this?" Sam looked up, his big puppy eyes were unrisistable.

"It's in the family. Mrs. Lovett is one of my ancestors. She was a witch, and is has been passed on generation to generation. Who was given the razor, had to kill. That was the deal. I got the razor four weeks ago, when my mother died in a fire. It happened right here, in here bakery. She made the worst pies, really." The girl sobbed. Sam felt that all the puzzlepieces fell into place.

"What's your name?" Sam asked. "Amelia Lovett." The girl said. Sam smiled a little. "Well, Amelia, could you maybe stop what you're doing? Right now your killing my brother. We've melted the razor, if that helps?" Amelia shook her head. It only stops when I die. That's why I slit my wrists. I wanted to die in the same place my mom died. So please let go of me and let me die." Amelia begged. Sam let go of her writst, but he felt sorry for the girl. He pulled out his gun from his waistband and seriously considered his options. He could let the girl bleed out, but that could take a lot of time. He also could put a round in her head and it would be over in less than a second. But then he'd be killing a person, and Sam hated killing _people_.

"I could help.." Sam said and Amelia looked up to his face, then to the gun he had sitting in his lap. She nodded heavily. "Please, _please, _I beg you. Save me from this damn misery so I can be with my mom again. Your brother will be fine as well." Amelia sobbed. Sam swallowed hard. It _was_ dean they were talking about, and this girl was begging for him to kill her. Sam lifted his gun and pointed it at her head. "I'm sorry." He said before pulling the trigger. Amelia fell face first to the ground.

A drive, a cremation and a supplyrun later, Sam returned at the motel. He was shocked to see Dean still in the exact same positon. But then, when he came closer, he saw that Dean had written him a note as well. It was next to an empty bottle of whiskey.

"Hey Sammy, you really shouldn't have gone without me,  
but my head hurts like hell and I've lost a lot  
of blood so you're lucky. Wake me when  
you get back.  
Dean."

Sam read it and smiled. No way he was going to wake up his brother, he'd do that in the morning. First a shower, food and sleep.

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**I'm SO SORRY for the crappy ending, and the loooooong wait for the update.**

**Please,_ please_ , review this shit. The monster needs to be fed.**

**xx**


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